There, at the beginning of the trail to the ruined church, he paused long enough to look around one more time just to be sure no one was watching. Nobody was. The coast was clear. Now that the jeep was gone, there was not a single car in the parking lot. No one around. Not a living soul. Something about the not a living soul idea made a small shiver sneak up the back of his neck. He didn’t exactly know why. Having the whole park to himself was actually a lucky break. A little bit lonely, maybe, and even kind of unnatural, but lucky in that there wouldn’t be anyone around to point out the No Trespassing sign and mention that the ruins were on private property. Matt shivered again before he checked out the whole area one last time and pushed his bike around the No Trespassing sign and on down the narrow, overgrown path that led to the church. Under the broken arch of the narthex he stopped again to park and lock his bike, and then to look and listen, to peer into the vine-draped jungle that filled the huge, roofless room, and to listen to that special breathless silence he’d noticed before in historic places, particularly deserted ones.
